


So Ruthless, Darling

by woakiees



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, First Order Poe Dameron, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woakiees/pseuds/woakiees
Summary: "His devilish smirk still stood and she still looked completely uninterested, as if the knife in her hand was a pen and the blood coating her fingers was merely ink."
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	So Ruthless, Darling

Complete darkness. Absolute silence. He was disoriented, the lack of sight and the inability to hear leaving him dizzy in a way he never imagined possible. Two of his senses, completely stripped from him, taken by some unknown drug unwillingly pushed through his veins, the small pinprick of the needle setting his skin on fire as the combination of chemicals swirled into his bloodstream.

It still burned. He could still feel, though moving was a different story, and every sensation felt electric, but not in the way he usually enjoyed, like when her hands wandered across the expanse of his back or when her fingers tangled themselves into his short curls. It was overwhelming — the feeling of the hot sand beneath his bare feet and hands gripping his arms so tight as he was marched towards some unknown location. It _hurt_ , and Poe could usually handle an impressive amount of pain without even flinching.

He could still taste the blood in his mouth, leaking from his split lip, or maybe it was from his bloodied nose, because he could smell the familiar, tangy iron so strongly he was sure that it was the only thing keeping him from passing out at how _fucking_ dizzy he was.

Time was a foreign concept to Poe in that moment. How long ago had he been walking through dark streets, alone and head just a little too fuzzy for the dismal amount of alcohol he had consumed at a bar earlier that night? They had slipped something into his drink too, he was sure, because even drunk he never would have allowed himself to be captured by a lousy group of Resistance members.

Would she be awake yet? Had she noticed that he wasn’t in bed beside her, that he hadn’t made it back to their small ship from the bar?

The idiots who took him definitely didn’t account for her, and the thought brought a proud smirk to his face — one that didn’t falter as the burning sand beneath his feet turned to cool stone, and remained on his lips even as he was forcefully pushed to his knees, the coarse feeling of rope scratching against his wrists as his hands were tied behind his back.

Could the Resistance not even afford a decent pair of stuncuffs?

His head snapped back suddenly, from the force of a fist meeting his jaw. Poe grit his teeth, fresh blood filling his mouth, hot and heavy like red wine. He shook his head, the look in his eye somewhere between lethal and defiant, though they were still unseeing. He hoped that whoever had hit him was standing close enough, because he spit and wanted nothing more than for it to splatter in their face, and it was safe to assume that he was successful even temporarily blind because his actions were met with a blow to the temple from the butt of a blaster.

And he laughed. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it in his chest, and he could tell by the way it rolled off his tongue that the sound was dripping with an underlying venom so caustic, he was sure the eyes of his captors held the terror they had hoped he would be the one to feel.

He only felt excitement. He wasn’t worried, had no reason to be. His girl was more than capable of finding him, more than capable of getting him out of this. They wanted something from him, if they didn’t they would’ve shot him back in the streets. The drug hadn’t even begun to wear off yet. She had time. He wasn’t worried.

And the pain — it was almost delicious. The wet, sticky red on his face, the bruise he could already feel forming between his ribs where a boot had just knocked him on his ass before a set of hands yanked him back up to kneel, the friction of the rope against his wrists burning so enticingly.

He _liked_ it.

The more pain placed on him, the more they would endure at her hand.

The thought was erotic to Poe.

But when had the Resistance gotten so dirty?

It seemed a little too dramatic for Organa, but he could remember seeing the familiar symbol stitched onto the sleeve of a leather jacket worn by one of the men — it had been the last thing he had seen before his vision faded to black. He supposed the jacket could’ve been stolen.

But it didn’t really matter. If they were with the Resistance, the carnage left behind would be one hell of a message for their precious General. If not, then it would still be a story, a warning.

The Dameron’s had a reputation for being ruthless, and that would only be further solidified in the wreckage they left behind — in the remnants of the hurricane that his wife would bring.

They had really fucked up.

He took every blow, every kick, every drag of a blade across his skin with complete silence, with the controlled discipline he had learned in his years of serving the First Order. Poe wouldn’t give them even an ounce of satisfaction. They could brand him, and he would only grit his teeth at most while violent pictures of her filled his mind.

Time still didn’t exist to him. All he knew is that his ears were beginning to ring and he could see blurry shapes dancing around his vision. He almost liked the nothingness more than the inbetween.

He guessed another thirty minutes passed, and his vision returned before his hearing, and he didn’t even try to hide it — his eyes following the movements of the one wearing that leather jacket. There were two others, another man with a spotty mustache and a woman, none of them paying any attention to Poe at that second.

They were talking, and Poe didn’t read lips well enough to be able to make out any words other than his name here and there. He rolled his eyes, already growing annoyed with the muffled ringing in his ears.

It was bullshit.

And the blaster fire that sounded throughout the room minutes later only made it worse.

But it also brought that signature proud smirk back onto his lips, his eyes full of delight as he watched each of his captors fall to their knees as they were shot out from under them, their own blasters sitting on a small stone table a few feet away from Poe, completely out of their reach.

 _Maker_ , they were fucking stupid.

Organa really needed to get her shit together.

She walked into the small hut, her pace slow, expression almost bored though her eyes showed how truly pissed she was. They were cold, harsh, yet blazing with an unforgiving and relentless fire that he adored to no end.

She didn’t even glance his way, but he caught how her shoulders stiffened, and the way that her hand twitched. She had seen him, and the initial rage she had felt only intensified ten times over.

And Poe watched, that satisfied smirk still on his face, as she let that rage fuel her actions.

Time suddenly made sense again, and he reveled in the twelve minutes and forty-seven seconds his wife spent working her magic. His devilish smirk still stood and she still looked completely uninterested, as if the knife in her hand was a pen and the blood coating her fingers was merely ink. The only other indication that Poe was enjoying this was the callous laugh that flew from his lips as the last body, the man in the leather jacket, fell to the ground with a solid thump, chest still moving with shallow breaths that would only last another minute or two, his eyes holding Poe’s as his wife made quick work of tearing her blade through the thick rope binding him.

He stood swiftly, as if he hadn’t just been kneeling for Maker knows how long, rubbing at the red marks around his wrists before turning, one of his arms encircling her waist while his other hand fell to her ass, pulling into a searing kiss that might have been just a little exaggerated for the sake of showing his lame excuse of a captor just how exhilarating the whole thing was for him. The sinful moan that dripped from his lips however was one hundred percent truth. Watching his wife tear those who tried to wrong them apart was undoubtedly a turn on.

He only pulled away once the urge for his own thirty seconds of vengeance became too much.

Poe wasn’t sporting a smirk anymore, instead choosing to adopt the rather bored expression that still adorned his wife’s face as he glared down at the other man, his fingers twitching at his side as he thought for just a moment. He knelt down, grabbing his jaw with bruising force as he simply looked him over, eyes daunting.

“You made one real stupid fuckin’ mistake,” Poe chuckled darkly, straightening back up to his full height before bringing his foot down onto his face, once just to hurt, to hear the satisfying crunch of bone breaking under his boot, waiting several long seconds to relish in the scream that sounded throughout the room before bringing it down a second time.

All that followed was silence.

He turned away from the body on the floor, his eyes immediately finding hers across the small space. He could see her hands trembling, and the fire that had been in her eyes quickly gave way to another emotion Poe hated to see.

She looked terrified.

But not of him. No, never of him.

Poe slowly closed the distance between them, taking her hands between his, looking down at them, covered in crimson that he knew would stain. He shivered gently, and let the feel of her skin on his deliver another wave of comfort that he would only ever admit or show to her.

“I almost lost you,” she mumbled, her voice breaking his small reverie.

“I would’ve found a way back to you,” he replied instantly, tilting his head to the side. “No way in hell am I going to die at the hand of a few lousy Resistance members.”

His words didn’t seem to do much for her. She only shook her head, mouth falling open and shut again several times as she tried to find something, anything to say.

Poe didn’t give her the chance to even attempt to speak again, though. He took one of his hands, grasping her chin lightly between two fingers, tilting her face up until her eyes met his once again. His other hand softly encircled her wrist, and he held her gaze intently as he brought her fingers up to his mouth, his lips closing around each individual digit as he licked the blood away from her hands, his eyes fluttering shut as he gave her other hand the same treatment.

But he stopped at her pinky, quirking an eyebrow as he slowly offered it to her, his eyes flickering down to her lips as she pulled her own finger between her teeth, sucking it clean, no longer trembling, eyes no longer haunted.

And that damned smirk fell back onto Poe’s face just as his cock twitched in his pants, and he couldn’t refrain from pulling her flush against his torso, dipping his head until his lips found hers in a greedy, passion filled kiss.

He didn’t hesitate to push his tongue into her mouth, pushing past the bittersweet taste of iron until he found one that was entirely and completely her — so familiar, so inviting.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled against her lips, bending so that his hands could sweep her knees right out from under her, her hips meeting his as he held her tightly against him.

“I’ve got you.”


End file.
